Verbal diarrhea of a gal who really lives, despite having depression

What Must It Be Like To Be Intelligent?

Although I know I am not a dolt, I am also painfully aware I am not overly ‘bright’.

I’m not talking neuroscientist, particle physicist or Mensa alumni bright;
I’m talking an intelligent member of society who can
legitimately argue a point on immigration policy or economic diversity
or the anthropological need for organised religion.

You see,
I often have intelligent conversations in my own mind.
Witty banter back and force between nonexistent, like minded intelligentsia.

And then I meet with real life, living and breathing people,
and my tongue swells up and my grey matter goes on a long vacation.

Which is a scenario that makes no sense.

Because,
sometimes I can be quite funny.
Quick witted, even.
And this takes genuine cognitive skill.

But in a conversation with another adult,
you might as well put a pointy hat with a big white ‘D’ on it,
on my head and send me to the corner.

.

Oh, what it must feel like to have a thought and actually be able to utter it,
instilling a good impression upon the minds of others.